


Go the F*ck to Sleep

by orphan_account



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Consensual Somnophilia, M/M, Medication, Negotiated kink, PTSD, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 06:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dick’s new medication is ruining his sleep. Slade helps.





	Go the F*ck to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rough draft because I cannot physically read my own smut, I will die. 
> 
> Also, not to be the worst, but I usually post rough drafts.

When Slade entered Dick’s one bedroom apartment, he tossed his keys into the decorative bowl by the entryway. Dick’s keys weren’t there, but that didn’t mean anything. Slade instituted the bowl for himself, and without any presumptions that Dick would cease to dump his keys wherever felt most convenient to him at any given time. Slade could complain, but Dick’s photographic memory meant he generally remembered their whereabouts and, ultimately, the apartment was Dick’s to trash.

Slade had once offered to buy Dick a nicer apartment in a nicer part of town, but Dick glanced from the entryway bowl, to the coatrack that had appeared overnight, to the rugs that had cropped up underneath his furniture and over the scratches in his hardwood floors before curtly declining the offer.

“Am I going to hit a certain age and devolve into a patronizing, obsessive compulsive, control freak?” Dick had snarked while Slade stocked and organized Dick’s medicine cabinet by frequency of need, and then alphabetically. “Or are all of the older men in my life anomalies?”

Slade has furrowed his eyebrows, and tossed over his shoulder, “The men in your life are anomalies, kid. But, you’re already an uptight, despotic, incorrigible brat, so I have no doubt you’ll age well into Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.”

And while Dick had made a terribly guttural noise before tossing a roll of gauze at Slade’s head, half an hour later he’d sucked Slade off (knees cushioned by his new bathroom rug, also an addition by Slade) so Slade didn’t care. 

Dick didn’t have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. But Wayne’s personal, discrete physician had recently diagnosed Dick with complex PTSD. Even more recently, following an incident in which Robin slipped on a fire escape and Dick was slower than that other one to rescue him, she had prescribed Dick medication.

“It’s just to manage the physical symptoms,” Dick had explained to Slade, as Slade slotted the new, orange bottle to the meticulously managed medicine cabinet. “I have to take it every day, to start with, but then I should be able to take it as needed. There aren’t any side effects, so it won’t affect anything,” Dick had promised, demonstrating by bracing himself on Slade’s shoulders to hop up and wrap his legs around Slade’s waist. This time, Slade had carried Dick to the living room because he wanted to teach Dick about the utility of his freshly implanted ottoman.

But there were always ramifications, at least initially, to altering one’s internal chemistry, and Slade wasn’t surprised when Dick’s keys were missing and he wasn’t surprised when he entered the bedroom and found Dick curled up into a twitching, restless, and solidly unconscious ball on his bed. The blanket lay crumpled on the ground, likely tossed now that Dick overheated every time he slept.

Slade leaned against the doorframe and pursed his lips. For two weeks now, Dick was fatigued to the point of frequent naps that then interrupted his nightly schedule. His sleep was practically polyphasic, but it was also uncomfortable, deep, and plagued with strange and immersive dreams.

While in the throes of it, he was nearly impossible to wake, until a few hours passed and suddenly the slightest noise jerked him into a sweaty and groggy consciousness.

With Dick’s permission, Slade had been testing stimuli, from ice to light pricks with a surgical needle. While Dick responded with twitches and grimaces, he didn’t wake.

But he did report an affect on his dreams, so, as was the modus operandi of their relationship, Slade and Dick had negotiated. Goals were stated, boundaries were laid, and a four-part roll out plan was established.

They’d started with kissing and light petting. Slade had settled beside Dick for one of his naps, waited until precisely 90 minutes, and then he’d tilted Dick’s chin. Even in the first stage of REM, Dick hadn’t been disturbed, and so Slade had pressed a kiss against Dick’s slack, just barely parted mouth. Like this, Dick was so pliable and soft, responding only with light shifts, furrowed brows, and soft sighs. And while Slade, for all of his posturing, enjoyed when Dick fought him and bit him and demanded from him, this was nice too. The absolute control over Dick’s vulnerable, sleeping form sent a thrill down Slade’s spine, one that swelled in his groin and left him wanting. As a result, he had thrown himself into Phase One with a controlled, unexpected ferocity, nipping and sucking on Dick’s lip while roaming his hands over the planes of Dick’s body. He had ground against Dick, and gripped his hips to test the constitution of his sleep. It took an hour before Dick flinched awake, but then he’d met Slade with a soft, sleepy grin before chasing Slade’s mouth with intent.

It was a successful experiment. Slade had enjoyed it, and Dick reported improved sleep and a more soothing introduction to wakefulness.

Now, Slade approached Dick’s tense, dreaming body for Phase Two. Phase Two was frottage, with intent to come, and it took a sharp breath from Dick for Slade to remind himself to be gentle as he massaged Dick’s arched back and stroked Dick’s feverish skin until Dick relaxed enough to uncurl.

Slade settled on the bed and adjusted Dick until Dick faced him. Slade humored an urge to manipulate and arrange Dick’s limp body for a moment longer before he, once again, caressed Dick’s cheek and along his cheekbone. Slade cradled Dick’s jaw and kissed him, lightly grinding against Dick’s hips while remaining cognizant of the fact he was still in slacks, and Dick was only in thin boxers.

Drifting light fingers from Dick’s face, down his torso, to his hip, Slade kissed a trail from Dick’s lips, to just under his ear, and then to his neck. He nipped and sucked at Dick’s neck while rubbing circles into the sensitive skin to the side of Dick’s hipbone. Arousal spiked in Slade core when Dick let out a soft but throaty sigh, still asleep, still so pliable and accommodating.

Perhaps too quickly, Slade pulled away to shed his pants, returning to Dick only to immediately roll his groin against Dick’s, relishing Dick’s subtle shift towards him. Slade continued into a slow grind, gently stroking fingers along the edge of Dick’s bulge to coax him to hardness.

It didn’t take much, the benefit of a young lover.

Slade slid a hand into his own briefs to stroke himself and catch up. Then, satisfied, he reached out and drug a finger along the skin above the waistband of Dick’s boxers until Dick shifted again.

Even dead asleep, the kid was responsive.

Tucking his fingers under the waistband, Slade sidled Dick’s boxers down, dragging them out from underneath Dick just enough to wrap a hand around Dick’s cock and offer an experimental stroke. Dick remained unconscious. Vulnerable. Slade bit back a growl.

Keeping a hand on Dick, dancing fingers along the velvety skin, Slade reached with his other hand to fetch the bottle of lube they’d planted under the other pillow. Slade hadn’t understood when Dick insisted they hide it, but now Slade did. It felt salacious and plotted and just a touch nefarious as he popped open the bottle and drizzled a generous amount on Dick’s member while Dick lay there limp and compromised. Dick flinched at the sudden chill, but somehow didn’t stir otherwise. Slade wasn’t sympathetic, Dick burned so hot that the further stimulation was already causing a flush across Dick’s shoulders and chest.

Slade stroked Dick’s freshly slicked cock before adjusting his hips to press his own member against Dick’s. He spread the lube between the two of them and stroked, leaning his head back and sighing. Then he skirted his hand across Dick’s hip, purposefully smearing lube along the way because he liked Dick messy, and grabbed Dick’s ass to steady Dick’s lax body as he thrusted roughly.

Dick whimpered, deep in his throat, and Slade couldn’t withhold his own groan as he began a steady, fervent pace. His fingers dug into plush, yielding flesh as slid against Dick with just enough friction to stoke his own arousal, without chasing anything too satisfyingly firm.

“Good boy,” Slade growled when Dick lethargically rolled his own hips, eyebrows furrowing, and mouth parted enough so that a thin trail of saliva trailed down his cheek.

After several minutes of skirting the edge of deeper pleasure, Slade hooked a leg over Dick’s hip and grasped Dick’s cock as he used his adjusted grip to grind even harder against Dick. He couldn’t reach Dick’s neck with his teeth like this, so he reached around with his other arm to grab a fistful of Dick’s hair and tug.

Dick’s eyes shot open meeting Slade’s.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunted before orgasming. Most of his come landed on his stomach, but some dribbled on Slade’s fist. With a smirk, Slade offered his hand up, level with Dick’s mouth. Dick wrinkled his nose.

“No,” he said. “It’s covered in lube, and I’m not eating lube again, it’s gross.”

Slade shrugged and wiped his hand across Dick’s cheek, to the tune of Dick’s indignant squawks. Slade then patted Dick’s hip and despite Dick’s irritation, he obligingly rolled over.

“You suck,” Dick muttered, as Slade drizzled more cold lube over his hip and down to his ass. Slade spread the lube across Dick’s ass and in his crevice, slicking it up and just barely brushing his hole, before slotting his cock against Dick and beginning a steady grind. Dick’s breath hitched when the tip caught against his rim before Slade adjusted and continued chasing his orgasm.

“You’re a brat,” Slade returned after several minutes, before coming with a grunt, his release splashing prettily across Dick’s lower back.

As soon as Slade tucked himself back into his briefs, Dick threw himself back against Slade and wiggled to rub the mess of come and lube against Slade’s shirt and underwear. Slade popped him on the thigh, and Dick just giggled, leaning his head back to prop it on Slade’s shoulder.

“That was hot,” Dick cooed. Slade pet Dick’s thigh in long strokes.

“How did you sleep, pretty bird?” Slade asked, a post-coital haze already settling his bones.

“So good,” Dick crooned, rolling his hips. “Dreams were nice. Not as nice as waking up to an orgasm though. How was it for you?”

Slade hummed his satisfaction and Dick snorted.

“Do you want to schedule Phase Three now or later?” Dick asked. Slade wrapped an arm around Dick’s torso, trapping him close.

“Later.”

“Okay, cool,” Dick said, wiggling to no avail. “Slade. Slade, let me up, I need a shower.” Slade closed his eye. “Slade, you poured lube all over me, up!”

Slade fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m up at 3am because my recent medication change means I’m still adjusting and, uh, it’s the worst. So have a fic.


End file.
